


breathing spell

by Extrinsical



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Daxamite invasion with a twist, F/F, based on prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 16:31:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13368687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Extrinsical/pseuds/Extrinsical
Summary: he’s beentryingto ignore it, but -“Maggie,” Alex mumbles. Hums, maybe. “Maggie.”





	breathing spell

**Author's Note:**

> Diverges a little from some part of S02E22. Unbeta-ed, so grammatical errors may be rampant as it's my weak point.

Winn has all sorts of materials and equipment scattered on the long table that he’s since commandeered and dragged into the back room during the Daxamite invasion. Some were salvaged from pieces around the bar, but most were brought to him by Supergirl when she’s patrolling.

And to be perfectly honest, trying to wrangle something useful out of these scraps may prove impossible even for him.

He could do some makeshift torch lights, he supposes. Maybe even tasers of some sort. Or even just a spiked hammer with electricity running through it. God knows they need _more_ weapons and ammunition to combat the Daxamite that is pressing down on them hard. But are they solutions that will remove their main problem entirely? No.

The petroleum tank that somehow remained intact despite Kara’s rough handling holds some possibilities though…. The very dangerous, very last resort type of possibilities, in fact.

And definitely not something he should be working on when there are other people around lest he blows them up with a tiny error.

He rolls around the table with his chair to poke at the tank anyway, because it probably _is_ time for last resort type of measures.

How long more are they going to last against the assault?

It’s been a week, and while they managed to hold their ground, their ranks grow thinner by the day.

Despite himself, he glances at a corner of the room, where Alex lies on a makeshift bed made of sheets and blankets and canvas bags, semi-conscious and injured.

And he’s been _trying_ to ignore it, but -

“Maggie,” Alex mumbles. Hums, maybe. “Maggie.”

Did he mention Alex is high, too?

He probably should have.

Alex Danvers is _high_ on drugs, and they didn’t have the option to sedate her completely due to lack of supplies. That’s also why she was brought into the backroom to rest, because outside this room is bar filled with people running about trying to bring order to this city.

His gaze darts to Maggie, who’s standing by a nearby and much smaller round table. Chocolate brown eyes is scanning something off crinkled documents in a hand, the other resting on a hip. The NCPD shield glints on her belt from where her dusty jacket has been pulled back a little.

There are a couple of butterfly stitches and dark red lines on Maggie’s face and neck. There’s actually also a faded handprint around the neck, like someone had her hanging in the air with a one-handed grip.

Someone like a Daxamite.

“Maggie?” he starts tentatively, no longer able to keep silent, picking up a wrench to unscrew a thick bolt from the tank.

“Hmm?” Her response is pretty absent, if he do say so himself. It’s almost as if she hasn’t heard Alex calling for her.

He chews at his bottom lip, glances at the tank, at Alex, then back at the detective. “I think someone’s asking for you.”

Maggie’s lips twitch like she’s about to smile but doesn’t move. “She’s…. not asking for me, not exactly.”

“O… kay…” he says slowly, because he’s not about to assume he knows why Maggie phrased it that way. He moves to unscrew the second bolt and - _whoa_ , this bolt is too goddamn tight. He grips the wrench tighter and puts more force into it.

She places the document back on the table and picks up another.

Meanwhile, Alex is still mumbling. “Maggie.”

“Umm.” His gaze darts between the cop and agent again.

Maggie huffs, and looks at him. “Alex’s still drugged. So she’s not asking for me, not really. Just,” she pauses, and her lips twitch again like she can’t decide if she’s pleased or amused or exasperated. “Calling my name. She’s been doing that since she regained consciousness a little while ago.”

His eyebrows lifts. “How long ago was that?”

She glances back at the semi-conscious agent before looking back at the papers. “Not long, just a short while before you came back.”

So approximately half hour. Maybe an hour.

“Maggie.” Another hum.

Confusion is beginning to give way to amusement now and Winn feels a smile creeping in. Now that is _cute_.

But he also sees the way Maggie’s gaze sometimes linger at the door, like she wants to go out there and do _something_ . And Winn knows that type of look - like all the superheroes he knows, Maggie is _restless_.

“I will look after her if there’s something you need to take care of,” he offers.

There’s a long pause before Maggie puts the document back on the table and looks at the delirious agent before turning to Winn.

“I,” Maggie hesitates. “I brought my work in here.” There’s a question in there, like she’s indirectly asking if Winn is okay with that.

He blinks. “Oh that’s fine too, I just thought - “

She shakes her head. This time her eyebrows crinkles and dips and the amusement fades from her eyes. “She fought against bed rest when I tried to leave earlier. Broke her stitches.”

Ah. That explains it. From there, connecting the dots is easy. Earlier that day, a team that consisted of a few DEO agents and Maggie and Alex had barely escaped being killed. It’s one that left Maggie injured lightly and Alex where she is now.

It’s pretty amazing and admirable, to be honest - even when Alex is high, she wants Maggie close. Within view. Within protection.

Winn can understand that.

Except Maggie’s hand, the one not on the hip, has also curled into a white-knuckled fist.

Perhaps she doesn’t want to be very far from Alex either.

“Sounds like she’s imprinted on you,” he jokes, half serious. Whatever happened out there must have scared Alex enough that she wants Maggie close by. Maybe Maggie had been in more danger than was originally described -- Winn wouldn’t put it past the detective to minimize the attention on herself.

If anything, the bruise that looks like a handprint around the neck says plenty.

The cop does roll her eyes and huff at that, and those small shoulders seems to ease. Or sag. Maybe both.  The tight fist loosens.

“Yeah,” is the soft response. “Probably.”

The words are light, humored even, but Winn recognizes that slightly distant look. Maggie doesn’t have it as bad as Alex when it comes to this, but he’s exasperated to find out that the detective can pull off the having the weight of the world look in her eyes very well.

These girls are going to make him old, he just knows it, and he’d be damned if they all look like kicked puppies when he’s around especially with the Daxamite invasion lurking in their shadows.

He twirls the wrench deftly in his hand.

“Hey Alex,” he says suddenly and loudly, “what’s your favourite thing about Maggie?”

Maggie’s eyebrows shoots up, startled.

“Eyes.” Mumbling. “Her eyes.”

Maggie, with her pretty chocolate brown eyes, just blinks, mouth hanging open slightly. Her hand has dropped from the hip, and those fingers are uncurled and loose.

Winn is grinning now.

“Why is it your favourite?” he goes on to ask just because he can. Hell, he’s already going to die if Maggie tattles on him (he _really_ hopes she doesn’t), so he may as well go the extra length.

“Schott,” Maggie says, looking up at the ceiling, and there’s something like exasperation and embarrassment in her much quieter voice. She’s not exactly stopping him, though, and her olive skin is doing very little to hide the pleased flush on her cheeks.

It makes her look younger and not at all like a world-weary cop.

“Grounds me,” Alex hums the answer. “Maggie.”

Winn is very close to laughing. If only his phone isn’t broken. He really wishes Kara is here to see this, except Kara is out there doing superhero things.

Maggie just pinches the bridge of her nose, seemingly torn between amusement and putting a stop to it.

“Do you stare into those eyes often?” he asks like the little shit that he knows he’s being right now.

“Always.” A delirious, contented affirmative. “Addicted to it.”

Wow. Damn is Alex so _high_ right now.

“Are you done, Schott?” Maggie asks him instead, face still half-hidden by the hand rubbing at the nose.

He twirls the wrench thoughtfully. “One more? Please?” he asks, grin on full display.

She huffs but doesn’t stop him, instead crossing her hands. “If she remember this,” amusement is in her voice now, and the dimples are on display. “It’s not my problem.”

Maggie has worked her way past embarrassment within a couple minutes, clearly, and is showing how delighted she is by her babbling girlfriend.

He pumps his fist - wrench and all. Hey, he may already be doomed, but at least the haunted weariness is gone from Maggie’s eyes for the moment. Plus seeing Alex like this is something he probably will never see again.

He wonders what question he can ask that will make Maggie actually laugh. Favourite activity to do with Maggie? Best kiss? The moment she fell in love? Most embarrassing moment that she doesn’t want Maggie to know?

Oh man, so hard to decide.

And just for a little bit, the world feels brighter.

He also _does_ manage to make Maggie laugh, so he counts it as a point for him.

. . .

Alex isn’t as high two hours later, but she is _still_ high.

It also means pain is creeping back onto her face, and cold sweat dots her forehead.

The previously bubbly hums have turned to soft groans of pain - and Maggie has long since moved from standing by the table to sitting cross-legged by the makeshift bed on the floor with documents scattered by the side to better watch over her.

“Maggie,” Alex is still definitely mumbling the name though. “Maggie.”

The detective’s gaze is also darting over to her girlfriend more frequently, more worriedly, a storm slowly building beneath those chocolate brown eyes.

Winn hesitates. “Should I get Eliza?” Who’s outside in the bar right now, discussing Daxamite biology and… biological inventions meant to poison Daxamites.

He tries not to think about it and its implications, focusing instead on the two women by the corner of the room.

Maggie just shakes her head. “She’s already told me we don’t have enough supplies. Whatever we have left needs to be kept for emergencies.” By that she mean casualties that could be incoming. _Is_ incoming.

Winn Schott is someone constantly surrounded by people who needs to make hard calls. His shoulders sags. He understands, but _damn it_.

“Maggie.” The name is said hoarsely, and he looks over to Alex only to shoot up from his chair, because the agent is trying to sit up and is clutching her stomach and there is so much _pain_ on her face -

But he also stops short from scrambling over, because Maggie is already there, making Alex lie back down gently and firmly.

He watches their eyes meet and the way Maggie is brushing a thumb over a cheek, and Alex suddenly sagging back as if seeing the detective is all she needs to slump back in feverish pain.

“Idiot,” Maggie says, murmurs, half leaning over the other. From where Winn is, he can’t see the expression that’s on Maggie’s face, but he can hear the worry and something entirely too soft in that voice.

“Maggie,” another mumble. Alex nuzzles into the hand resting on her face. “Love you.”

“Alex…” a soft, haunted exhale. It’s as if that’s all Maggie can bring herself to say. Whatever happened when they were out before coming back injured is clearly still weighing heavily on the detective’s mind.

And then somehow Alex is trying to nuzzle closer, making all the movements that is bound to worsen her injury as evidenced by the grunts of pain. Maggie huffs and clambers into the bed, maneuvering them both so that Alex is resting her head on Maggie’s lap instead.

Winn is pretty sure Maggie’s going to get a bad crick in her neck, not that the detective seems to care. Instead, she’s threading fingers through soft curls of dark hair, the other hand pulling the thin sheet that’s been repurposed as a blanket to cover the injured woman better.

“Love you,” Alex mumbles, nosing into the stomach like a child. “So much.”

And now that Maggie’s re-positioned them, Winn can see the storm of emotions playing on her face. The humor at how drugged Alex is is evident, but so is the fondness, the worry, the sadness, and the haunting guilt.

“Better prove it by not pulling your stitches again, Danvers,” Maggie says lightly in return, like they are bantering and making bets as usual. “Or better yet,” the words are softer now. Quieter. A touch raw. “By resting as you should.”

Alex is still mumbling. “Maggie.”

The agent, in fact, is trying to reach up to touch Maggie with a trembling hand that somehow sneaked out from below the blanket - only the detective is having none of it, grasping it and pressing a gentle kiss to the palm.

“That’s not resting,” Maggie sighs with something approaching fond exasperation, pushing that restless appendage back down and laying her own hand over it to stop stray movements.

Winn is about ninety five percent sure Maggie has forgotten he’s there.

Quite that suddenly, he feels like an intruder to an intimate scene he’s not supposed to be privy of.

It’s not as if they are kissing or anything like that, and he’s seen Maggie curl an arm around Alex’s waist a number or times with a finger hooking into the belt loop like it belonged there - he’s even caught them making out hotly with Alex’s hand sneaking into the plaid shirt on the monitor which he surreptitiously turned off after staring blankly at it for two minutes before deleting the recording after, for _god’s sake._

But this - there’s something about this that’s just too intensely private for him to watch; Maggie with her soft, sad eyes, a gentle hand scratching at the back of Alex’s head, and Alex entirely too _unguarded_. He’s never seen Alex like this, ever. Hell, he’s never seen Maggie like this before either.

He swallows.

Winn clears his throat, and Maggie looks up to stare at him. “I’m, umm, I’m gonna just… “ he jerks two index fingers at the door. “...Discuss... Daxamite…. thingies with... J’onn.” He backs away from the table slowly and turns around.

Just as his hand touches the door knob - “Winn.”

He freezes. “Y-yeah?”

Then,

“Thank you.”

He blinks and turns around to meet her gaze.

“For earlier,” Maggie goes on to say. “I know what you were trying to do. So… thank you.”

There’s a pause, and then Winn’s smiling. His head cocks slightly as he rubs against the back of his neck. “Just yell if you need help and, uh, can’t get away.” Because he has a feeling Alex isn’t going to let the detective leave anytime soon.

The dimples do actually show up now, and Maggie nods.

He leaves the room, feeling a little lighter, and feeling like he’s just been trusted with a secret he knows he will never, ever reveal to anyone.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Uhmm. This is based on a prompt asking for a drugged Alex from somewhere that I can no longer locate. Something about this prompt called to me..
> 
> But I guess I feel like CW could've actually expanded on the invasion some more? So many interesting things that could have happened. Wasted, if you ask me. :(
> 
> This may or may not be a one-shot. Potentially a two-shot.


End file.
